The Painting Experiencehttps://www.processarts.com
Thu, 24 May 2018 00:04:28 +0000en-UShourly1https://www.processarts.com/wp-content/uploads/cropped-favicon_5-32x32.jpgThe Painting Experiencehttps://www.processarts.com
3232Expressing the Sacredhttps://www.processarts.com/expressing-the-sacred/
Sun, 29 Apr 2018 05:19:09 +0000https://www.processarts.com/?p=17665We are delighted to offer this guest post by Amy Kisei Costenbader. Kisei is an ordained Zen priest who currently lives and practices at Great Vow Zen Monastery, where she has resided since 2010. She […]

We are delighted to offer this guest post by Amy Kisei Costenbader. Kisei is an ordained Zen priest who currently lives and practices at Great Vow Zen Monastery, where she has resided since 2010. She also teaches meditation at Reed College in Portland, Oregon.

Respect, Stewart says, is accepting what arises and going with it, not arguing with what shows up. Seeing everything as having a place, as sacred.

From a Zen perspective, the awakened heart sees all things as having the same essence—buddha nature. Everything is sacred in its unique and momentary quivering expression through our senses. Zen koans test our understanding of this truth and push us into the heart of its manifestation. Koans give us a way to grapple with the content of our life: How do we live each moment as sacred? Where do we contract, pull away, separate?

The koans say, “So you know the view, everything is sacred—without separating, without explaining, without conceptualizing, show me a bird shitting.” If the body tenses or the mind hardens at the mere thought of this seemingly crude demonstration, it shows that we are stuck. This is the purpose of the koan: to throw us back into our fixed beliefs, our conditioned ideas, our habitual way of splitting the world in two, into yes/no, me/not me, sacred/profane, good/bad, like/dislike. Koans help us reconcile the oneness of all things, the sanctity of experience even in the midst of its sometimes challenging expression.

The painting process functions like a good koan. As we learn to dance the dynamic freedom of not-knowing—with the vivid emergence of colors, shapes and forms—we discover that our mind is spring-loaded, determined to have opinions and judgments.

When you tune into this dynamic, there is immediacy in the process. A stroke is made, a form begins to take shape, the body tightens, the mind says no. At first, I would run to find Stewart. “I think I’m finished,” I would say, my body and mind shouting, “Get this painting away from me, this isn’t how it is supposed to be happening!”

He would ask me questions. My answers, coming from aversion, were predictable and false. I knew I had to keep painting, to feel the discomfort, to reconcile my fear with the accepting embrace of my true heart.

The process unfolded slowly—waves of discomfort ebbing and intensifying, the mind’s judgments sometimes screaming at the top of their lungs. Despite these winds of physical and mental tension, I continued to paint. And then it happened: I was painting what felt like evil, demonic faces, one after another in a claustrophobic lump. Suddenly, a deep well of compassion opened in my heart. I looked at the face I was painting and saw an ordinary human face, neither entirely evil nor truly good, but containing elements of both. Then I looked at the other faces and saw that not a single one was characteristically evil. They were expressing so many things: confusion, boredom, blankness, frustration, anger—but in each there was a glimmer of light, of recognition, of humanness. In other words, each one, I came to realize, was an expression of the sacred.

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To further explore the potential of the creative process, listen and subscribe to Stewart’s podcast series. You may wish to begin with the episode, You Are Not Your Painting! which investigates our natural tendency to get attached to what's going on in our painting, whether we like it or not.

]]>Connecting With Your Own Energyhttps://www.processarts.com/connecting-with-energy/
Tue, 20 Feb 2018 19:00:44 +0000https://www.processarts.com/?p=16798After creating a safe and spacious environment, working with energy is a facilitator’s primary tool. The energy determines how you move within that space -- for example, the questions you might ask and the suggestions […]

After creating a safe and spacious environment, working with energy is a facilitator’s primary tool. The energy determines how you move within that space -- for example, the questions you might ask and the suggestions you might offer to a painter. ~ Stewart Cubley, from "Working With the Tool of Energy," a talk available in the course, Introduction to Facilitating Process Arts

Stewart speaks of the experience of the facilitator as she or he works with a painter and how together they explore, seeking to find where the energy wants to flow. For me, when I am with someone and we are interacting in this way, not only is there the pleasure of seeing the other person connect to the energy, and connecting with my own energy in that process, there is also an intimacy. Indeed the word I want to use is communion.

For me, such experiences are among the most precious. We momentarily drop into a space of no separation. It flashes between us and is gone, but . . . Oh, my! Stewart describes being guided by one's authentic energy as radical, wild, raw. Yes! This energy is not interested in the myriad priorities that our socialized self would impose on us. It is connected to our hearts. As I listen to this talk, I realize that process painting is really a tutorial in listening to our core being, our most authentic self. We are in a safe setting playing with paint. Our wildness can play out safely here. But, in truth, we are playing a dangerous game. As we learn the enormous pleasure of finding just the right color and letting our arm have its way with the brush on the paper, we may fall in love with a way of being that we will find is too precious for us to forgo once we leave the painting room! This could lead us to radical course corrections. Expensive and valuable.

Of course, we will, in ordinary times, have to forego wildness to some degree. Our lives have other legitimate priorities. However, if we do not honor our core truth, the voice of our energetic Knowing, we will run aground. But here another part of our experience in the painting process serves us. We lose our way in our lives as well as in front of the painting board. Then, the process helps us sniff out where our true course lies. It can guide us back to what nourishes and heals.

Indeed, I have come to understand that affording myself painting time is a practice of honoring something essential in my life. I must keep the wellspring of my energetic truth-telling bubbling freely. It is a source that is revelatory, mysterious, and ultimately joyous. Worth the risks involved!

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We're pleased to share these reflections of Jean Matlack of Rockport, Maine. Jean is a process painter and a participant in our online course for facilitators. We're always grateful for her insights on the painting process and how it unfolds in her own life. Read more from Jean in Trusting Your Intuitive Intelligence.

Introduction to Facilitating Process Arts is a three-part course in the art of facilitation for professionals working in process-oriented learning environments, as well as individuals wishing to deepen their experience of process painting. The first part of the course explores seven essential elements of facilitation based upon methods developed over the last forty years by The Painting Experience. The course is self-paced and no previous art experience is required. Learn more . . .

]]>Process Painting Through Griefhttps://www.processarts.com/process-painting-through-grief/
Tue, 06 Feb 2018 15:50:33 +0000https://www.processarts.com/?p=16554My dear old 94-year-old Dad died in late September. After the initial grief and busy-ness, including helping my 91-year-old Mom resettle, I was exhausted. I noticed my mood fluctuating between sadness and grief and feeling […]

My dear old 94-year-old Dad died in late September. After the initial grief and busy-ness, including helping my 91-year-old Mom resettle, I was exhausted. I noticed my mood fluctuating between sadness and grief and feeling pretty flat. By flat, I mean not quite numb, but in a kind of re-orienting or integrating state.

Soon afterward, I joined my facilitators' group to paint together online. We had all been together for a business video call earlier that day. As we checked in before painting, they sweetly commented on how quiet I had been. Although they knew about my Dad's passing, I shared a bit more and then we began to paint.

When we paint together online, it is also a video conference and so we get to see each other and our paintings. Just like in the studio at a workshop, we paint in silence and we do not comment on each others' paintings. Also, just like in the studio, we can hear the brush slosh in the rinse water, the sound of palette knives and big brushes making their marks. We can also call on each other for facilitation help if we find ourselves stuck or when we feel our painting is complete. At the end of our time, we check back in before signing off.

As I painted, something loosened. It wasn't conscious, there was no cathartic release like there can be at times when I paint. There was simply the movement of the brush and the flowing paint. "Meanings" about the painting's images flipped in and out of my mind, changing and disappearing. There was an allowing of the simple movement of the body and brush. There was a return to noticing the connection between certain colors and their relationships as they met each other on the page.

At the end of our time, when we checked in again, one of my pals commented that I seemed to have more energy. I did! It was as if a switch had flipped. I felt alive again. There was a spark. The painting experience works this way. It meets us wherever we are without needing language or meaning or any effort toward "figuring things out." It helps us simply be present with what is.

On that particular day, it brought me back to my body, to an enlivened sense during a time of big transition.

]]>Safe Place, Sacred Spacehttps://www.processarts.com/safe-place-sacred-space/
Sat, 27 Jan 2018 19:00:57 +0000https://www.processarts.com/?p=16495“An artmaking space is a “mishkan” a portable sanctuary. Each artist working there is alone with her image and the message it brings as well as being in a subtle communion with others in the […]

“An artmaking space is a “mishkan” a portable sanctuary. Each artist working there is alone with her image and the message it brings as well as being in a subtle communion with others in the space. (…) The witness of others and our ability to struggle alongside them deepens our engagement in the process. Safety grows as we learn to travel back and forth between speaking with our images and attending to mundane tasks like washing brushes and refilling water containers for painting.” ~ Pat B. Allen, Art Is a Spiritual Path

It was nearly the end of a five-day workshop at Esalen when one of the participants turned to me with tears in her eyes as we stood in front of her painting. She said, “Thank you, thank you all for making such a safe place for us -- I don’t know how you do it, but it is wonderful.”

In that moment I could feel what a rare treasure it is for most of us to be creative in the company of others and to feel completely safe. She was new to painting and shy about her skills. She had been dancing with the image of a full female torso for days. It had appeared small and tentative in her early paintings and grown to occupy the center of her later painting as she became bolder. I had watched her slowly fall in love with this image. As her connection grew, so did her desire and willingness to fully engage this very personal form.

In the decade I have been process painting, and the four years I have been facilitating, my appreciation for the importance of the rare safe space of the studio has deepened. Here I am in a group of people I most likely don’t know, invited to follow the energy of my creative urges. If I really let my self go, I might find I am painting something I deem icky, scary, sexy, violent, sappy, trite or intensely personal. How is it safe to do this?

The trinity of no commenting, working in silence and a facilitator’s “unconditional positive regard” are the scaffolding for this safety. When all our personal experiences are normalized as a part of the greater human experience, we can relax and access courageous creativity. In the process, we get to meet our hidden selves.

By the end of a workshop, I have witnessed painters bravely, happily and courageously surrendering to anything that arises -- buoyed by the silent support of everyone around them doing the very same thing.

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Lydia Marshall is a facilitator of The Painting Experience. She has a B.A. in studio arts and an M.A. in architecture. As a facilitator, she is honored to be present with others as they discover their inner images, energies, and stories -- and she brings a deep love and respect for the artist that lives in each of us. Lydia will be facilitating with Stewart Cubley and Annie Danberg at next weekend's painting workshop in San Rafael, CA. She also leads painting workshops in her home city of Seattle. To learn more, visit her website.

]]>Radical Innocencehttps://www.processarts.com/radical-innocence/
Sat, 30 Dec 2017 19:00:24 +0000https://www.processarts.com/?p=16225The first encounter with painting is often a delight and a surprise. Each color is a delicious revelation; strangely satisfying forms appear; we’re amazed and fascinated by the mysterious images that emerge. And the room […]

The first encounter with painting is often a delight and a surprise. Each color is a delicious revelation; strangely satisfying forms appear; we’re amazed and fascinated by the mysterious images that emerge. And the room feels safe—a supportive, inspirational community of people working together at their growing edge with no obvious comparison or judgment in the air. The experience is exhilarating and freeing.

I noticed this freshness and unguarded innocence early in my teaching career when I worked with young children. After it sunk in that they were not expected to perform, the children would drop the stereotypical images fed to them on a daily basis and would begin to paint what was important to them. Whether it was their family or their home or some fantastic creature of their imagination, their paintings carried the unmistakable stamp of the real. Few things are more touching than seeing an innocent child deeply engrossed in the act of painting. When there was no thought of production or award, their gestures were purely creative.

To safeguard this authentic expression, I had a rule that might be impossible today, given the understandable precautions that have grown out of the awareness of abuse. The rule was that no adults, other than myself, were allowed in the painting studio. When parents came to pick up their children, they would have to wait in the foyer until the class was finished. The kids loved it. It was clear that they felt a special respect and quality of freedom by having their own protected space.

I would meet with the parents at the end of each three-month series, holding the finished paintings until that moment, so I could talk with them about the class. Often it was a revelation to see a reflection of their child’s creative life that was unlike the information coming from goal-oriented classes. Once they got over the stock question—Does my child have talent?—they would begin to realize the profound nature of the journey represented in the sequence of paintings. As I explained how disruptive it is to single out a particular painting as a favorite or in any way make the product more important than the living presence experienced in creating the paintings, they would usually become allies in my quest to protect and preserve the child’s true creative nature.

Because of my time working with children, I began to see adults in a similar light. In many ways, we’re just older kids, especially in the qualities of innocence and openness still available to us. People from all over the world show up at Painting Experience workshops, many with accomplished lives. From physicists to therapists, from tech workers to teachers to screenwriters—a tremendous variety of human experience and history is represented in the studio, and it’s truly impressive that each person is willing to return to the ground of original innocence. I purposely have people not speak about themselves when we first begin a workshop. Labels immediately create images that separate. In a process painting studio, no one is more accomplished than anyone else.

For an adult, approaching a blank canvas without an agenda requires a courageous openness. We usually equate intelligence with knowledge, proficiency with certainty, success with accomplishment. To be open to true exploration means not knowing, not being certain, and not working for a result. We immediately feel the pressure of performance: I’m open to whatever arises, as long as it’s clever, a subtle voice whispers in our ear. I’ll take the risk of beginning without a theme, but I hope it quickly turns into something, another voice intones. I’ll start with some happy colors, I don’t want anyone to think I’m depressed, a third voice interjects.

The demand to protect our self-image has profoundly infiltrated every nook and cranny of our motivations. It’s not easy to drop the barriers of identity and embrace our own innocent expression. To enter the free field of unknown outcome is a true hero’s journey.

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As we say goodbye to 2017, here are our five most-visited blog posts from the past year. If you missed any of them, you might enjoy taking a look . . .

Resistance is just a knock on the door. A call to wake up. Listen, it’s saying. I want you to paint this. And then follow me, because I have something to show you. You’re going to not know and maybe not like what you’re doing for a while. But you can trust this.

The intimate moments of courage, surrender and breakthrough that the painting process so naturally calls forth will lead to changes in the way we perceive and act. The paintings, at a certain point, jump off the page, showing us the way to a more courageous and meaningful participation in the world.

]]>Don’t Paint Whale — Paint Whaleness!https://www.processarts.com/dont-paint-whale-paint-whaleness/
Fri, 15 Dec 2017 19:00:53 +0000https://www.processarts.com/?p=15919Recently, Lisa Pedersen (@lisapedersenart on Instagram) reminded us of this brief and very lively excerpt from a talk that Stewart gave at a workshop in Southern California. In the following conversation with a workshop participant, […]